


As the Sun Sets

by orphan_account



Category: Eragon (2006), The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Dragon Riders, Elves, F/M, Gen, Humans, New Character - Freeform, Romance, Suggestive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 13:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15144002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Separate au where Eragon returns and pursues Arya successfully, centered around them





	1. The Honeymoon

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was sitting on a flashdrive for five years and I wrote it before I realized I was gay--hence why I wrote so easily from Eragon's perspective.

Eragon smiled at Arya. “Are you ready?” his tone wavered with nervousness. She responded in an equally anxious voice. 

“Yes.” Stepping onto to pier, he took her by the hand and led her to the edge of the boat. 

“Don’t open your eyes!” he said hurriedly as he hopped in.

“I’m not!” she answered. For extra measure, she put her right hand over her closed eyes. Around them, the forest was silent and peaceful as the bright moonlight streamed through the swaying branches. He helped pull her onto the boat after himself, and the boat was jostled as they walked towards the bow. He could hear the whisper of the breeze filtering through her clothes and the soft singing of elves several miles away. 

Once he was sure that there was nothing else to perfect on the newly completed boat, he drew in a breath, stepped back and said, “ For our honeymoon; my present to you.” He hoped what he said was enough. 

The boat was stout and sleek, made for speed and comfort. It wasn’t large, but it was enough for a sea-faring boat. The hull was round and well balanced, and the stern was likewise elegant. It contained one sail, and the cabin was well proportioned. The windows were dark, and mysterious, a quality he had worked hard for. It took Eragon almost two months to completely make the boat, from the bottommost board to the small built-in astrolabe attached to the bow. He had little help, apart from the few elves who knew about sea-faring. He built it with a combination of magic, and with his own hands. When he was sanding down the elegant wood, he sang in the ancient language and immersed himself within the energy that flowed in him. Saphira left him to work, knowing that he needed to do it on his own. He had to cover his tracks well, for no one could know about his wedding present for his wife-to-be. He had to manage his time wisely, and sometimes, he would have found himself away for almost a whole night, perfecting the boat.

He now stood, observing Arya’s reaction warily. She opened her eyes slowly and gasped at what she stood on. She turned in a full circle, arms extended, mouth gaping. 

“You made this?” she asked, her voice hoarse. 

“Yes,” Eragon said, a little apprehensive. Turning to look at him, tears in her eyes, she said, “It is the kindest gift anyone has ever given me.” Eragon surveyed her, dumbfounded. 

“What is its name?” Arya pressed. 

Smiling now, Eragon pulled her over to the starboard, pointed down towards the reflection in the water and said, “Look.” Written in careful, scrawling handwriting along the side of the boat was “Queen of my heart” in the elven tongue. 

Clutching his arm, she gasped in a strangled voice and said feebly, “Oh, Eragon.”

Touching her lightly, he said, “Come.” He guided her to the door of the cabin, and his throat suddenly constricted. This was his favorite room, yet it was the most sensitive also. With trembling hands, he reached forward and pushed the door open in oiled hinges. It was silent, and the moment his flesh touched the smooth wood, a light turned on within the cabin.

A small set of stairs led into a wide room with white carpet. Yet, in the middle, was a deep pit, containing a massive bed. The quilt was green and blue with gold tassels and weavings. The padding surrounding the bed was black, and four pillows were neatly stacked up against the wooden head board. Eragon swallowed nervously as Arya surveyed the room in silence. Their luggage was in a neat, discreet pile on the bed, and the two wardrobes on the sides of the room were open, exposing their emptiness. 

“I’ll go cast off,” he murmured quietly, his whole body trembling now. He exited, his boots softly scuffing on the smooth wood. When he emerged from the cabin, he heard Blödhgarm’s voice from the nearby bushes. 

“Are you ready to set off, Eragon Dröttning?” his voice was soft and curious. 

“Yes, we are,” Eragon answered gruffly. He still needed some getting used to the title of king. 

Eyes glowing in the dusk, he responded, “Farewell Shadeslayer. Meet you at Vroengard.” Eragon tilted his head in response, and the elf suddenly disappeared into the forest. He cast off the line and turned to reenter the cabin. He paused, knowing the rest of his life was about to begin. Then, drawing himself upright, he stepped forward, ready to greet his newlywed wife.

When he stepped into the cabin, the first thing he noticed was the lights. They were dimmed, giving off a quiet glow that engulfed the whole cabin. Once his eyes adjusted, he saw Arya sitting on the bed, her back up against the head board, her legs pulled up to her chin, her arms wrapped around them.

Smiling lopsidedly, he sidled over to the bed and sat down next to her. 

“How are you?” he asked in a low voice. Instead of answering, she leaned up against him and placed her head on his chest. Wrapping his brawny arms around her, the smell of pine nettles surrounded him. 

“How long will it take to get there?” She asked timidly. 

“It depends,” he answered impishly, “However long you want it to take.” 

Arya smiled, her lips trembling slightly. 

“Not too long, I hope,” she said softly. Eragon’s confidence dwindled. They sat there for a while, staring off into space, their fear obvious to each other. The boat rocked only slightly, and the only noise was their steady breathing. And it remained so for the rest of the night.

The next morning, they went out on the deck to watch the trees slowly float by. Nothing of interest happened, that was, until they docked at a remote location near dusk.

It was a moonless night, and the stars shined forth from the sky’s dark cloak. The pair noiselessly stepped off the boat, peering around themselves. Not a soul was in sight. The strange glow from the stars illuminated the grass as they strode towards a strange cropping of towering boulders. Hand in hand, Eragon smugly directed Arya to the small entrance on the northern side of the outcropping. When she entered, she let loose an exclamation.

Hot steam enveloped them as Eragon’s hair was soaked on contact. He grinned forlornly, only because he knew Arya couldn’t see him. It was a very special place that he discovered while on the road. He was able to take a very nice bath and have some peace and quiet. He knew Arya would like it. Or at least, he thought.

Through the darkness, Eragon pulled Arya closer so that she wouldn’t fall into the pool of water he knew was only about five feet away. He could feel her breath on his neck as she gripped his tunic with slightly trembling hands. 

Tilting his head lower, Eragon whispered tentatively, “Arya, do you trust me?”

There was a pause, in which her breath caught. 

“Not really,” she whispered back, though Eragon could hear the sour humor in her quavering voice. Putting his hand out to feel the wall, he wrapped his other around her slender waist and pulled her in for a deep kiss that lasted for several seconds.

When he pulled away, he heard Arya’s strangled gasp. She pulled him closer to herself, her fingers digging into his skin with eagerness. The movement was so unexpected that at first Eragon didn’t quite understand. Yet, he obeyed her and leaned closer. 

Then he gently traced her cheek with his forefinger while he murmured, “I will follow you to the ends of the earth. I never thought that I could love someone as much as I love you.” 

Murmuring in an equally low voice, Arya responded, “I love you with my whole heart, my whole mind, and my whole body. Let us not be parted this night.” His eyes widened slightly. He felt her nimbly lurch up on her toes before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him with such passion that he almost fell before he began to kiss back.

Arya shoved him up against the wet stone wall with a force that would have bruised any other man. What Eragon felt was not pain. Her arms snaked around his neck, ensnaring his head in her passionate grip. Strange warmth, starting from his very fingers, spread across his body, and filled him with unyielding energy. Arya’s grasp around his neck was not tight enough. No matter how near he wanted her to be, she was never close enough. Nothing was enough. 

Breaking apart, Arya began tearing at the laces of his tunic, attacking them as if they contained something she yearned for very much. The wild thrumming in Eragon’s chest radiated warmth throughout his shaking body. He felt as if a savage beast had woken up deep within himself, and was now running about, howling at the moon in excitement. 

With a triumphant growl, Arya raised his tunic over his head and flung it to the ground, once again trapping him up against the wall. The feeling of the cool stone on his back and hot, steamy air on his front created a strange sensation—that combined with his already hot blood, proved a potent mixture. Arya paused, panting as she lowered her head and buried it in his neck. Dropping his hands, he attempted to undo the strings on the back of her tunic. When they did not come apart, he gripped both sides and pulled until the tunic tore in half, exposing Arya’s undershirt. Whether her gasp was out of shock or pleasure, he could not tell. 

He began to heatedly kiss her jaw while muttering, “How disappointing, I rather liked that shirt.” 

Arya hands trailed over his abdominal muscles, causing him to moan as his eyes fluttered. 

“Want to,” he gasped inbetween kisses, “The water…” He felt Arya nodding desperately into his chest, her breath causing goose bumps to trail over his torso. 

With the skill of a man in deep love, he was able to somehow pull Arya into the pool without having to break the contact of their lips. When he managed it, she let loose a sharp intake of air as the hot water splashed about her before she let out a choked laugh and swam closer to him, their eyes not leaving each other. As Eragon restored his grip on her, they gravitated into deeper water as the steam shrouded them and they sank into perfect bliss. Eragon easily picked up Arya underneath her upper thighs, her soaked skirt bunching up around her waist as her back thumped up against a wall. Her response was a surprisingly deep-seated moan, rendering his flash of concern pointless. Arya’s face lowered to his, her mouth whispering commands to love her. Eragon gritted his teeth as Arya tugged at his hair, her lips exploring his. They kept their bodies moving until they simultaneously cried out, their voices echoing their shock and pleasure. 

 

*****^*****

Eragon had just managed to re-buckle his damp trousers as he slumped up on a boulder. It was nearing dawn, and the pinkish glow was beginning to crawl across the sky. He shivered at the sudden chill and wrapped his arms around himself as he peered back into the gaping entrance.

“Arya, we have to go,” he chuckled. There was a scuffling noise and Arya emerged from the cave. Eragon thought he would never forget what she looked like.

Her hair was soaked and pulled back in a loose bun. Instead of the leather tunic and breeches that she wore into the cave, she bore his slack shirt that hung past her hands and down her mid-thighs. Eragon hid his smile as Arya flushed deep scarlet as she noticed him appraising her form. Her other outfit had quite disdainfully been ripped apart and was somewhere down deep in the hot spring. Both of their skin was red from the extreme heat, and they both found the cool air and dewy grass a soothing relief to their inflamed skin.

“Come,” he whispered, his teeth flashing in the early morning light. Together, they trampled towards the boat, giggling gleefully. Once they boarded, they collapsed against the cabin door, panting. Kissing, Eragon managed to somehow open the door and close it behind himself. In the darkness, Eragon tore his own shirt off Arya and threw it on the floor. But before he could do anything else, Arya’s hand grasped his wrist. 

She gasped, “Go-Go cast off.” He was surprised by this, but as reassurance, he felt Arya’s cool hands on his trembling and bare chest. The heat building up in his body was instantly soothed. Stroking her cheek, he opened the door and slid out into the crisp, morning air.

Goosebumps travelled up and down his body as he untied the rope and leapt back on the boat. As he coiled it, he spotted to distant specks circling in the skies above the plains. Grinning, he launched his mind out and immediately met Saphira and Fírnen. Almost at once, he could feel their curiosity and almost impatience with them. 

“Go away!” he shouted mentally, while making a shooing motion with his hands. Almost at once, the two dived towards the ground, out of sight. 

“As you wish,” the duet chorused. Smiling, he returned to the door, paused, and then pushed it open noiselessly.

The lights were dim, so it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. They discovered that Arya had managed to wriggle inbetween the sheets of the bed and now had them pulled up, covering her chest. 

Giving him a wide smile, she said, “I’m all yours!” Kicking the door shut, he crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder up against the doorframe, observing her with faint humor in his eyes.

“All mine?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Rolling her eyes, she patted the empty spot beside herself and said impatiently, “Get in the damn bed, Eragon.” Smirking, he instead strode forward and knelt beside her. Taking her hand, he put it to his lips and breathed deeply, inhaling her intoxicating scent. Stroking it with his thumb, he pulled away and surveyed her face before climbing over her, into his designated spot to the left of her. The sheets were surprisingly crisp and soft as they engulfed him. She planted her cool hands on his chest and crawled on top of him sideways. Fairly soon, he found his nose only inches from hers, her eyes trained on his. For several seconds, they did not move until Eragon suddenly flashed a grin and lurched forward, his lips connecting with hers. And for several hours, they did not emerge from the cabin as it floated downstream.


	2. Man and Wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Eragon celebrate their wedding with the dwarves, rated M for suggestive tones and drug use

Eragon opened his eyes blearily as sunlight streamed through the cracks in the drawn curtains and onto the wall opposite of it. For a wild moment, he thought the sun was on the wrong side of the sky, which was until he realized sheepishly that he had in fact slept through the whole day. He wondered why he had woken, for he was in a rather deep and peaceful sleep. Before long, his question was answered as a pain flashed through his stomach. Stunned, he realized he hadn’t eaten since the day before. For several seconds he blatantly refused to move, for he was surprisingly comfortable. 

Looking over at the slumbering form of Arya, he admired the honey-glazed color of her bare shoulders and back. He smiled contently, observing the black hair tumbling wildly about her face, giving her the appearance of an exhausted child after a day of play. For several moments, he admired the light as it was splayed across the ridges of her spine, glinting off her skin as if it were made of millions of tiny diamonds. 

As another stab of hunger hit him, he sighed softly, and heaved himself up into a sitting position, careful not to budge Arya. His head swam, and a dull throb pounded in his head as if he had drunk too much ale; that in which you get while sleeping away the day. He swallowed, noticing how dry and thick his tongue was. Standing up slowly, black dots danced in his vision as he leaned on the wall for support. His muscles screamed in protest, searing with soreness from their recent actions. 

Taking several deep breaths, he turned to leave when he heard Arya mutter lovingly, “Eragon.” He froze and watched as she mumbled something incoherently and snuggled closer to his now vacant spot, a smile on her lips. 

Humored, Eragon bent down and gently pulled the covers over her exposed back as she shifted once more and fell into a deep sleep. He exited the room by lifting up the flat-side of a desk and opening a trap door that exposed a narrow staircase. Tromping down it, he followed a confined hallway lighted by a few werelights along the way until it opened into a small, modest kitchen. A small port hole showed a wide river with heavy vegetation on the riverbank to his immediate right. He turned to the stove and began to cook a vegetable stew and boil water for tea. 

Once the meal was completed, he poured out two bowls of stew and two mugs of tea. Setting them on the table, he went back through the hallway and up the staircase, into the bedroom. Arya was still sleeping, curled up in a tight ball. Smiling grimly, he went to the wardrobe, extracted a forest-green silk robe, and returned to the bed. 

Shaking her gently, he whispered, “Arya, wake up.” 

She groaned, “Go away,” before pulling the blankets higher over her head and turning away from him. He then extracted her limbs one by one from under the sheets and into the robe. After he tightened the belt around her waist, he pulled her on her feet. She swayed before collapsing into his outstretched arms. 

“Where are we going?” she grumbled, slurring her words, her eyes half-lidded with sleep. 

Hiding a smile, he reassured her in gentle tones, “Not far. Here, I’ll carry you.” Nodding numbly, she obediently wrapped her arms around his neck as he scooped her up, cradling her as if she weighted nothing. 

He navigated down the stairs and through the cramped hallway until they reached the kitchen, in which Arya had managed to partly wake up. Looking at him through glazed eyes, she accepted the stew wordlessly and began to dutifully eat it, as if it took all her concentration to manipulate each spoonful of stew into her mouth. By the time they had finished half of their meal, they had both regained some of their strength. 

Swallowing the last of his stew, Eragon asked slowly, “So, how are you feeling?” Arya, who was in the process of shoving a rather large morsel of bread in her mouth, blinked once at the random question. 

After she ate the last bits of it, she shrugged her shoulders and said, “Tired. Sore. Happy. And you?” 

Grinning, he responded passionately, “The exact same. Do you think you will be ready for the dwarves’ send-off party?” She slapped herself in the forehead, her expression mortified.

“I completely forgot! How long until we reach the port?!” 

“A few hours. Enough time to brush up a bit. I’m sure Orik will be throwing a big feast that will last all night.” 

Arya nodded, her eyes growing distant with thought. “Well, we ruined my best tunic last night, so I will have to wear a full-blown dress…” 

Jerking up eagerly, Eragon said hurriedly, “You look dashing in dresses. You should wear one.” 

Her eyes flashed dangerously as she said, “How come I feel that you have an ulterior motive for getting me to wear a dress?” 

“Because, they are easier to take off,” he said fearlessly. Dark eyes glinting bright, she said impishly, “Right you are, Eragon Shadeslayer, right you are.”

 

*****^*****

The two stood side-by-side as the boat gently bumped the side of a dock. Lithe as cats, the couple leapt off smoothly and Eragon wound the rope three times around a docking-beam before tying it off. The sun had just set, casting bloodred rays across the sky, as day fought a losing battle with night. Looping arms, the two walked confidently down a worn path for several hundred feet, towards the sound of faint music in the distance. True to her word, Arya was clad in a red dress that hugged her form, along with a bloodred cloak draped over her shoulders. Eragon wore a deep dark blue dress-tunic with a matching cape and brown leather boots. He felt Saphira and Fírnen’s presence first, due to them pressing on their minds heavily, though they refused to communicate. Next, he felt the minds of the few elves that were indirectly journeying with them to Vroengard. As they rounded the last bend, they viewed a wide clearing full of dwarves and more dwarves. A huge bonfire burned in the middle, in which two Nagra sat, spitted; their fat oozing and sizzling down their sides. Around them danced a circle of dwarves to the sound of reed pipes and drums reaping an erratic and upbeat melody that thrummed in the night air. To their left were Saphira and Fírnen, along with the group of five elves. Yet, before they could approach them, a voice bellowed for silence. 

The music stopped abruptly, as did the dancing. Everyone in the clearing turned to a single dwarf sitting at the head of the longest of three tables. 

Satisfied that everyone was watching and listening intently, the dwarf said in a grand voice, “Behold, friends, the reason we are gathered here, ‘neath the stars. For, mine own foster brother, a fellow member of Ingeitum Dûrgrimst, joins us from the fabled halls of the elves’ to wed his love within our presence!” There was a loud applause, though the dwarf quickly signaled for silence.

“Now, because they have been technically married under the rights of the elves, they’ve had a chance to jumpstart their family;” there was a chorus of unrestrained laughter, coming from even the elves. 

Eragon felt his ears go red as the aged dwarf continued, “Yet, here they come, and I beg you all to welcome them as your own.” At once, every single head turned to the pair, and several dwarves immediately in front of them gasped and dropped into hurried bows. Yet, Eragon and Arya ignored them as they walked slowly yet surely towards the lone dwarf. When they got there, they knelt as one, their heads bowed.

“Eragon, I welcome you back from your journeys that took you so far away from your clan. As you wait to be wedded here, know this; your family will always be welcomed here, as you are and were.” The dwarf then turned to Arya, her head still bowed. 

Letting out a sigh, the dwarf said so that everyone could hear, “Arya Dröttning, it has been long since you last wandered our tunnels. As it remains, you know that as a queen, it is not you who must kneel, though I do appreciate the gesture.” Arya slowly rose, towering over the dwarf. 

Unfazed, he inclined his head and said grandly, “As you must know also, since you will be wed to a member of one of our clans, you and your family are also welcome within our stone walls.” 

The dwarves watched in silence as Eragon joined Arya in standing and took her hand in his as the dwarf began to say, “As the king of the dwarves, and as a friend, I offer my blessing to the two of you, if you are willing to accept it.” 

“We are,” the couple said in unison. 

Looking extremely pleased, the old dwarf extended his hands and said grandly, “I bless thee, Eragon and Arya Shadeslayer, who, not through any merits of mine, have strove together for the greater good. Let them grow together in happiness, and let love grow in their hearts. Let them continue their good works of service, and let them live in peace, knowing that if not for them, we would not be here.” 

There was a slight pause and then the clearing broke out into cheers. 

Gesturing Eragon forward, the dwarf king whispered ecstatically, “Alas, Eragon, it is time! I am astonished that all of your patience won out in the end, though I am glad it did, for you would not be happy if it didn’t.” 

Grinning, Eragon replied in an equally low voice, “Well met, King Orik. I remained unsure of her position until recently, and I too am somewhat afraid that this is all a dream; a fantastic, merry dream.” 

Chuckling darkly, Orik said, “An interesting outlook, no doubt, but look- ere the moon approaches, and we can tarry no longer; we do not want to postpone your wedding feast.” 

Turning back to the babbling crowd, Orik raised his hands for silence. As the conversation rapidly dulled, he extracted a piece of shimmering string from his pocket. 

“Stretch out your arms, side-by-side,” he murmured softly. They did so; Eragon’s right arm pressed against Arya’s left. 

In a thundering voice, Orik boomed, “I stand here, before this audience to marry Arya, daughter of the elven queen, Islandzadí, and Eragon, son of the dragon rider, Brom. If anyone contests to this bonding of soul and hearth, come forward now or forever hold your peace.” Eragon’s heart raced as no one dared move behind them. After waiting an appropriate amount of time, Orik resumed speaking. 

“As no one does, then I bind thee by the wrists to show the commitment you both are making.”

Orik took the string and wrapped it around their arms, once, twice, three times, binding them together. Tying the string off, he stepped back and spread his arms wide, a smile breaking across his lips. 

“Arya Islandzadí’s daughter, do you accept this man, Eragon Brom’s son, as your betrothed, and pledge your commitment to him for as long as he suits you?” 

There was a pause, and then Arya’s voice rang loud and clear, “I do.” 

Smile broadening, Orik questioned, “Do you pledge to never leave him, even in the presence of ill health, money, and other commitments?”   
Again, her voice rang out, “I do.” 

“Do you pledge to support him with love in his endeavors?” 

“I do.” A sigh ran through the crowd as Orik then turned to Eragon.

He questioned him like he did Arya, and Eragon answered likewise. Eragon couldn’t help but notice that tears seemed to be swimming in the dwarf king’s eyes. When he answered the last ‘I do’, Orik grinned and turned back to the crowd, raising Eragon and Arya’s bonded arms over his short head. 

“Since no one testified against this betrothal, and both participants understand what they have pledged to, it is within my power, as the king of the dwarves, to proclaim this couple wedded!” A cheer rose, so loud that it caused his teeth to vibrate. 

Smiling, Orik turned back to them and cried triumphantly, “You may kiss the bride!”

Eragon stood numbly for a second before finding his bearing and turning to Arya; he found her eyes burning brightly. Cupping her face delicately, he pulled her closer to him and kissed her passionately, her moistened lips pressing on his. He vaguely heard the crowd roaring louder, and along with several catcalls directed at him. But he couldn’t focus on them.

He was blissfully lost in her lips, as her arms soon came around his neck and pulled him closer. His mind felt strangely shot, as if it was incapable of thinking. He lost track of time, only to be recalled back to reality when Arya pulled back, her expression bemused. 

“Do you wish to cause a scene, Eragon?” she asked. Yet, before he could answer her, he noticed Orik looking very disgruntled and tugging at his beard. 

“Never thought you’d do that, honestly, never thought you’d do that.” Eragon laughed, Arya’s own trilling giggle joining in. 

Smiling, Orik turned to the crowd one last time and bellowed over the noise, “And now, my friends, we feast!”

The feast lasted for several hours, in which nearly all the food was consumed. It was filled with conversation and laughter. When it was done, the dwarves pulled out drums and reed pipes. As the first note was struck, Eragon and Arya struck a pose, their bonded arms raised above their heads, their eyes trained on each other. The dance they were about to do was extremely complex, and Eragon had only done it twice before. As the fire danced behind them, they stomped once, as other couples did the same. The whole ground thudded as they did it again. Soon, the beat began to speed up gradually, to where they no longer put so much emphasis on their steps, but mostly jumped here and there. The whole time, Eragon had to keep glancing down at feet to make sure he wouldn’t accidentally step on Arya’s foot. He almost did if Arya hadn’t noticed it and quickly leapt back so gracefully that a passerby would have thought it was a part of the dance. 

When the song ended, Orik and Eragon switched partners, as was custom, and found himself with Orik’s wife. Glad that the next dance was a lot easier, he was amazed at how well she swirled and twirled along with him, despite their height difference. When the song ended, he found himself being pulled but to Orik who was quaffing a mug of ale. 

“Now, Eragon,” he said, his voice low, “I want to seriously congratulate you. A hundred years ago, I would have laughed at the thought of you two being together. It puts a new spin on things, aye, it puts a new spin on things, this does. I thank thee for agreeing to marry in thy clan; you do not know how much it means to us.” 

Awestruck at the thanks, Eragon dipped his head and murmured, “You’re welcome. I can only begin to thank you for your hospitality.” As Orik opened his mouth to respond, there was a roar above them. Startled, Eragon looked up in time to see a red and black dragon fly over the fire and descend into the bushes.

He watched, stunned, as two figures emerged from the trees. Murtagh’s tall form was easily recognizable in the firelight. Next to him, a woman dressed in black leggings trotted down the hill, the hilt of a black sword with an orange hilt visible from her belt. 

“Ho, Eragon!” shouted Murtagh, his hand raised in greeting. Grinning, Eragon saluted him likewise as Arya materialized beside him. Saphira and Fírnen disappeared into the bushes to greet the other dragons.

As the couple approached them, he recognized the woman as Mysis, one of his first riders. 

They bowed to each other, and Mysis said in a downtrodden voice, “Oh, we missed the vows!” 

Smirking, Murtagh said in response, “We didn’t miss much. There was only Arya and Eragon saying ‘I do’ and then they snogged each other.” 

Arya’s brow furrowed into a frown, “If you think that’s nothing, then you can leave, because you will probably never see it again in your life.” 

Laughing heartily, Murtagh kissed Arya on both cheeks and said, “And greetings to you too, Mrs. Eragon Shadeslayer!” Arya attempted to scowl but ended up giving him a small smile.

Grabbing Murtagh’s hand, Mysis said, “Well, I guess this show can get on the road!” and with that, the quartet meandered to the bonfire, where the elves had joined in with harps and mandolins. They danced late into the night, and Eragon’s mind felt fuzzy underneath the influence of so much mead and ale. 

At one point, he vividly remembered Mysis exclaim to the others, “Oh my, I almost forgot!” From inside her trouser pocket, she fished out a small draw-string bag. As it was still clutched in her hand, she reached into one of her voluminous tunic side-pockets and extracted a long, light-colored pipe. Eragon watched as all the elves gravitated towards them, their expressions suddenly hungry. He felt Arya tense up beside him.

“What is it?” he asked. 

Whispering so that no one could hear her, she said, “One time I smoked too much of that stuff and woke up at the top of a 60-foot tree, with no way to get down.” Eragon couldn’t suppress his laughter.

Eragon watched as Mysis wordlessly put a few light brown leaves into the pipe and lit it. After a few starting puffs, she handed it to Murtagh, who expertly took a long puff, held it for a few seconds, and then released it slowly through his nose. He then handed it to Arya, who took it, looking at the pipe apprehensively. After a moment’s hesitation, she lifted it to her lips and reenacted Murtagh by taking a deep puff and then closing her eyes briefly as she exhaled slowly, her eyes growing distant. Arya then handed it to him. 

The pipe’s smooth body felt warm in his hands as he fit the small mouthpiece into his mouth. After a glance at Arya, who had suddenly smiled, an extremely relaxed expression on her face, he slowly drew in the smoke. 

He fought off the urge to cough as the smoke stung his throat and eyes. It was surprisingly thick and sweet tasting as it traveled to his lungs where it seemed to swirl out of existence. For several moments, nothing happened, as he dubiously passed it on to an elf who eagerly took it from his numb fingers. Then quite suddenly, his vision blurred somewhat, and a curiously giddy feeling started from deep inside his stomach. He felt as if a thick cloth had muffled his thoughts, and his mind felt studiously empty, giving him room to daydream. He watched in awe as the pipe passed from the elves to a few dwarves who had chosen to participate, and then back to Mysis. 

Her eyes looked glazed, and she swayed slightly from side to side as she fumbled with the pipe, studying its contents before saying triumphantly, “We have enough for one more pass!” From deep within the confines of his skull, Eragon registered the noise of several people cheering at this. The ground swayed violently as he shifted to one side. He felt as if he were in a dream, with all the colors sullenly fading and then growing vivid. He watched as Arya took a deep drag from the pipe and then handed it him in a rather roundabout fashion, her hands moving side to side as they tried to find his.

Eragon found himself taking an incredibly deep puff, this time ready for the smoke’s effects. He handed it to the elf to his left and then violently teetered to one side as the smoke took full control of his body. The shadows induced by the fire seemed to sway in unison, and the darkness that existed beyond the fire’s light seemed suddenly both terrifying and beautiful at the same time. He noticed two of the four participating dwarves toppled backwards off the log they were sitting on, unconscious, a few seconds after they had their second drag. No one appeared to notice them. The conversation drifted from one subject to another so erratically that half of the time, Eragon didn’t know what they were talking about. They laughed and told eccentric stories that in no way could have been true. At times, they would even lapse into a strange silence, looking about themselves as they saw things beyond the world. 

He remembered Mysis suddenly kissing Murtagh as if they were the only people on earth, in which no one looked in askance at it…

He remembered flashing colors and feeling so elated, he felt he was about to explode…

He remembered Fírnen swallowing a barrel of mead before belching out a torrent of flames…

He vaguely recalled stumbling back to the boat as the sun began to peek over the horizon, Arya giggling behind him, his tunic in hand…

He remembered collapsing on the bed without removing a stitch of clothing, though his shirt was already off…

*****^*****

Eragon woke up with a pounding headache. One hand was draped over the side of the bed while the other was precariously placed around Arya’s waist. She was still dressed in her red dress, her cape drawn over her like a blanket, since they hadn’t even bothered to sleep underneath the sheets. His tunic had been discarded on the floor. Sitting up, Eragon yelped as he clutched at his temples. He felt as if an urgal had dropped him on his head. 

After the stabbing pain abated somewhat, he swung his legs over the bed and stood. He swayed on the spot for a moment, and then he bent down to remove his trousers. Almost at once, the pungent, sweet-smelling scent of the smoke hit him. Wrinkling his nose, he cast them on the floor, knowing he was going to have to throw them away. He tugged on a pair of brown leggings and then donned a long-sleeved tunic. Before he left the room, he wrote on a piece of parchment:

Arya,  
I have gone to get more supplies. Will return soon to cast off. I will give your respects to Orik.   
With love,  
Eragon   
He then left the cabin. 

Blinking like an owl in the late afternoon sunlight, Eragon first saw the group of elves heaped in pile on the ground. All of them were fast asleep. To the right of them, in the shadow of a great oak lay Murtagh and Mysis. Their arms were entwined with each other’s, and their hair was rumpled, and their clothes wrinkled. Behind them were the slumbering forms of four dragons; one blue, one green, one red, and one black with orange splashes. Smiling grimly, Eragon retraced his steps to the clearing. It was full of pitched tents, though he easily spotted Orik throwing water on his face from a bucket. 

Trotting up to him, Eragon bowed his head and said, “Alas, dear friend, we must depart from you. We pray your pardon, but we must reach our destination before the day of next.” 

Orik turned to him, a slight smile on his lips. 

“Go, Eragon. I bid you a good honeymoon. Love your new wife, Eragon, and be happy.” 

Clapping his fist against his chest, Eragon said, “I will at that. Thank you, Orik, sincerely.” 

Orik winked and said with an impatient wave, “Begone with you! You let Arya grow discontent with every minute she waits for your return!” Grinning, Eragon turned and retreated to the boat, a bounce in his steps.

Eragon cast off, and a few hours later, Arya and he were sailing over swells of ocean waves. They mostly stayed on the deck tending to the boat. Eragon worked only in trousers, showing off his lean muscles as they gleamed in the sunlight. They worked all afternoon, and they ate dinner at night before falling asleep, their hands intertwined. The next day, they rose, and worked all morning and early afternoon until an island came into view on the horizon. Vroengard.


End file.
